Eric Wilder's Blog, page 24
July 3, 2011
Mama Mulate's Cajun Seasoning - a weekend recipe
Being a voodoo mambo, Mama Mulate knows how to prepare and mix the necessary potions and poultices of her craft. Yes, she's very good at casting spells and removing hexes. She's also a wonderful cook and grows her own vegetables and herbs in the garden behind her house. She's not only good at growing them, she also knows how to use them to make the most wonderful Cajun and Creole dishes. Here is her recipe for Cajun seasoning, a necessity in Cajun and Creole cuisine. Try it, and prepare yourself for the compliments you'll receive.
Ingredients
• 1 Tbsp Jamaican Allspice, ground
• 1 Tbsp garlic powder
• 1 Tbsp onion powder
• 2 tsp white pepper
• 2 tsp black pepper, ground
• 1 ½ tsp cayenne pepper, ground
• 2 tsp thyme
• ½ tsp oregano
• ½ tsp marjoram
Directions
Store the combined mixture in a small jar.
Eric'sWeb
Ingredients
• 1 Tbsp Jamaican Allspice, ground
• 1 Tbsp garlic powder
• 1 Tbsp onion powder
• 2 tsp white pepper
• 2 tsp black pepper, ground
• 1 ½ tsp cayenne pepper, ground
• 2 tsp thyme
• ½ tsp oregano
• ½ tsp marjoram
Directions
Store the combined mixture in a small jar.
Eric'sWeb
My Favorite 4th of July
My Brother Jack was born on July 3rd and he and I loved fireworks. We both wanted to be soldiers and we practiced war our entire childhood. Because of our obsession, my favorite holiday, and my Brother Jack's, was, and is the Fourth of July. The one I remember best is the first one I can remember.
While growing up in small town Vivian, there were no City ordinances barring the use of fireworks. Every manner of explosives was sold including M-80s and Two-Inchers. Jack and I are both lucky to have all our digits as we later experimented with everything we could strike a match too.
My friend Timmy Jon and I even mixed our own batch of gunpowder and almost burned up the house with it. The first Fourth that I can remember, however, we made do with firecrackers, bottle rockets, sparklers and Roman candles.
On July 4, my mom and dad would buy us about ten dollars worth of fireworks. Ten bucks doesn't sound like much but you could pop lots of firecrackers for that amount in the sixties. We always began the fireworks as soon as it was dark enough.
I don't remember my age but I was old enough to feel the excitement of impending danger. With our dad's help, we began lighting sparklers, popping firecrackers and launching one bottle rocket after another. We soon got down to the good stuff.
'Hold it in the air and shake it," My dad directed as he lit my first-ever Roman candle.
I can still remember the percussion and slight recoil as incandescent flame burst from the coiled-paper barrel of the explosive device. I could not count at the time but I had a seat-of-the-pants feel for how many fiery rounds the candle contained. When it was over, I held the warm rod in my hand, inhaling acrid smoke and burned powder - an odor I will never forget.
My redheaded Brother Jack was next at bat and he had mischief in mind before my dad ever lit the candle's fuse. My mother was standing behind us in the open door of our house. Soon as the candle started spitting fire, Jack began pointing it at anything that caught his fancy - a tree, the family car, me, and finally toward the open door of the house.
Dodging the oncoming fireball, my mom screamed and jumped off the porch. Jack put at least three fireballs through the house, luckily catching nothing on fire. When he finally threw down the spent Roman candle my dad just shook his head, grabbed the remaining fireworks and walked into the house. Mom followed him, but not before unloading verbally on Jack.
Mom and Dad did not say much about the incident, giving Brother Jack the benefit of the doubt in believing that inexperience and lack of good sense caused the accident. After living in close proximity to him until I was fifteen, I know better. He went to sleep that night giggling about scaring my Mom and Dad and getting away with it.
The 4th of July means a lot more to me than just fireworks and hot dogs and we should all reflect on the sacrifices this wonderful holiday immortalizes. Still, my favorite holiday remains July 4 and the one I remember best is the first one that I can remember.
Eric'sWeb
While growing up in small town Vivian, there were no City ordinances barring the use of fireworks. Every manner of explosives was sold including M-80s and Two-Inchers. Jack and I are both lucky to have all our digits as we later experimented with everything we could strike a match too.
My friend Timmy Jon and I even mixed our own batch of gunpowder and almost burned up the house with it. The first Fourth that I can remember, however, we made do with firecrackers, bottle rockets, sparklers and Roman candles.
On July 4, my mom and dad would buy us about ten dollars worth of fireworks. Ten bucks doesn't sound like much but you could pop lots of firecrackers for that amount in the sixties. We always began the fireworks as soon as it was dark enough.
I don't remember my age but I was old enough to feel the excitement of impending danger. With our dad's help, we began lighting sparklers, popping firecrackers and launching one bottle rocket after another. We soon got down to the good stuff.
'Hold it in the air and shake it," My dad directed as he lit my first-ever Roman candle.
I can still remember the percussion and slight recoil as incandescent flame burst from the coiled-paper barrel of the explosive device. I could not count at the time but I had a seat-of-the-pants feel for how many fiery rounds the candle contained. When it was over, I held the warm rod in my hand, inhaling acrid smoke and burned powder - an odor I will never forget.
My redheaded Brother Jack was next at bat and he had mischief in mind before my dad ever lit the candle's fuse. My mother was standing behind us in the open door of our house. Soon as the candle started spitting fire, Jack began pointing it at anything that caught his fancy - a tree, the family car, me, and finally toward the open door of the house.
Dodging the oncoming fireball, my mom screamed and jumped off the porch. Jack put at least three fireballs through the house, luckily catching nothing on fire. When he finally threw down the spent Roman candle my dad just shook his head, grabbed the remaining fireworks and walked into the house. Mom followed him, but not before unloading verbally on Jack.
Mom and Dad did not say much about the incident, giving Brother Jack the benefit of the doubt in believing that inexperience and lack of good sense caused the accident. After living in close proximity to him until I was fifteen, I know better. He went to sleep that night giggling about scaring my Mom and Dad and getting away with it.
The 4th of July means a lot more to me than just fireworks and hot dogs and we should all reflect on the sacrifices this wonderful holiday immortalizes. Still, my favorite holiday remains July 4 and the one I remember best is the first one that I can remember.
Eric'sWeb
June 30, 2011
June 25, 2011
Mama Mulate's Salade de Crevettes d'Orange - a weekend recipe
Mama Mulate is a character in my French Quarter murder mystery Big Easy. Being a voodoo mambo, she is deft at preparing magical potions and enchanted concoctions. She's also a great cook and here's her recipe for a wonderful summer salad.
Ingredients
• 1 lb. large shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 1 Tbsp. orange peel, dried and ground
• 1 Tbsp. paprika
• ½ cup brown sugar
• 1 oz. lime juice, fresh
• 2/3 cup olive oil
• 4 plum tomatoes, diced
• 1 cucumber, diced
• 1 small red onion, chopped
• 1 red bell pepper, diced
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 1 Tbsp. cilantro, chopped
• 1 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
• 1 Tbsp. Triple Sec
Preparation
In a large bowl, combine orange peel, paprika and brown sugar. Toss the shrimp in the mixture, shaking until evenly coated. Sauté shrimp in olive oil. Toss plum tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, bell peppers, and cilantro in a large salad bowl. Whisk together red wine vinegar, remaining olive oil, lime juice and Triple Sec. Top individual salads with shrimp and serve.
Eric'sWeb
Ingredients
• 1 lb. large shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 1 Tbsp. orange peel, dried and ground
• 1 Tbsp. paprika
• ½ cup brown sugar
• 1 oz. lime juice, fresh
• 2/3 cup olive oil
• 4 plum tomatoes, diced
• 1 cucumber, diced
• 1 small red onion, chopped
• 1 red bell pepper, diced
• 1 green bell pepper, diced
• 1 Tbsp. cilantro, chopped
• 1 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
• 1 Tbsp. Triple Sec
Preparation
In a large bowl, combine orange peel, paprika and brown sugar. Toss the shrimp in the mixture, shaking until evenly coated. Sauté shrimp in olive oil. Toss plum tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, bell peppers, and cilantro in a large salad bowl. Whisk together red wine vinegar, remaining olive oil, lime juice and Triple Sec. Top individual salads with shrimp and serve.
Eric'sWeb
June 7, 2011
A Gathering of Diamonds Free on Amazon
Please check out my novel A Gathering of Diamonds. It's presently the #5 top mystery/thriller out of more than 15,000 free books. It's also free on Barnes & Noble, Sony and Kobo.
Eric'sWeb
Eric'sWeb
June 6, 2011
Still Dancing
No doubt music has the power to evoke memories and emotions. Fiddling with my computer tonight, I began searching for a lost file. I didn't find it. I did find several music files I haven't heard in a while. One of them was the long version (21 + minutes) of Get Ready by Rare Earth. Every time I listen to this song, it returns me to a specific point in time.
The time is 1971, the place, Vietnam. More specifically, I was working as a clerk typist/Jeep driver at the First Team Combat Training Center in Bien Hoa. I hadn't arrived in Nam as a clerk. Trained as an infantry mortar man, I carried the base plate of an 81 mm mortar with a 1st Cav line company, patrolling the Jolly Trail System, near the Cambodian border.
I don't know if I've told this story—I probably have—of running into a person I'd gone to college with in Monroe, Louisiana. I was on Firebase Buttons, getting supplied to go out to a forward firebase. The supply sergeant, his name slips my mind, a person I'd bowled with in college, asked me to come to his hooch and drink a beer. We sat on his hammock and popped the tops of two Black Labels.
"Wildman," he said. "This is the hottest AO in Vietnam. You're replacing a platoon wiped out by friendly fire, a Cobra gunship that came in hot. I wish I had better news for you. I don't. You're going to die, or at least be seriously wounded."
Goddamn it was hot!
Flash forward seven months.
Luck, karma, prayers, whatever, was with me. I survived without a scratch (well, nothing serious) and finally (I was a college graduate) got offered a job as a clerk, back on Firebase Buttons. The gig lasted until the 1st Cav stood down. Many were sent home (if you had ten months in country). I was sent to Bien Hoa.
This brings me to the song. There were no women (at least American women) around. I lived with a bunch of privates and non-coms in a communal barracks. Some of us were white, some black. None of us had much in common except our stay in Nam.
I was a Spec 4 (corporal), the highest I ever advanced. One night, the sergeants called a party. Before it ended, we were all drunk. There wasn't a single female present at the party. It didn't matter. We drank, high-fived, and danced like there was no tomorrow.
Tonight, as I listen to Rare Earth, I remember that party.
I danced like there was no tomorrow.
Hey, tonight, forty years later, as I listened to the song again, I'm still dancing.
Eric'sWeb
The time is 1971, the place, Vietnam. More specifically, I was working as a clerk typist/Jeep driver at the First Team Combat Training Center in Bien Hoa. I hadn't arrived in Nam as a clerk. Trained as an infantry mortar man, I carried the base plate of an 81 mm mortar with a 1st Cav line company, patrolling the Jolly Trail System, near the Cambodian border.
I don't know if I've told this story—I probably have—of running into a person I'd gone to college with in Monroe, Louisiana. I was on Firebase Buttons, getting supplied to go out to a forward firebase. The supply sergeant, his name slips my mind, a person I'd bowled with in college, asked me to come to his hooch and drink a beer. We sat on his hammock and popped the tops of two Black Labels.
"Wildman," he said. "This is the hottest AO in Vietnam. You're replacing a platoon wiped out by friendly fire, a Cobra gunship that came in hot. I wish I had better news for you. I don't. You're going to die, or at least be seriously wounded."
Goddamn it was hot!
Flash forward seven months.
Luck, karma, prayers, whatever, was with me. I survived without a scratch (well, nothing serious) and finally (I was a college graduate) got offered a job as a clerk, back on Firebase Buttons. The gig lasted until the 1st Cav stood down. Many were sent home (if you had ten months in country). I was sent to Bien Hoa.
This brings me to the song. There were no women (at least American women) around. I lived with a bunch of privates and non-coms in a communal barracks. Some of us were white, some black. None of us had much in common except our stay in Nam.
I was a Spec 4 (corporal), the highest I ever advanced. One night, the sergeants called a party. Before it ended, we were all drunk. There wasn't a single female present at the party. It didn't matter. We drank, high-fived, and danced like there was no tomorrow.
Tonight, as I listen to Rare Earth, I remember that party.
I danced like there was no tomorrow.
Hey, tonight, forty years later, as I listened to the song again, I'm still dancing.
Eric'sWeb
June 2, 2011
May 31, 2011
Vieux Carre Cocktail - a recipe
Vieux Carré Cocktail
If you're a writer, don't move to New Orleans and expect to pen the "Great American Novel." You'll probably wind up spending much of your time visiting the hundreds of bars, drinking wonderful cocktails, schmoozing with interesting locals and passing out in all your clothes before you ever keyboard a single word. A scene from my new book-in-progress, City of Spirits, takes place in the Carousel Lounge, located in the Monteleone Hotel on Royal Street, in the French Quarter. Here is a recipe for a drink supposedly invented there. Hey, I don't write in New Orleans, but I've lost a few brain cells sitting at the revolving bar in the Carousel Lounge. And I loved every minute of it.
Ingredients
· ¾ oz Cognac
· ¾ oz rye whiskey
· ¾ oz sweet vermouth
· ¼ oz Benedictine
· dash Peychaud's Bitters
· dash Angostura Bitters
Directions
Stir and strain over rocks, lemon twist garnish
Eric'sWeb
If you're a writer, don't move to New Orleans and expect to pen the "Great American Novel." You'll probably wind up spending much of your time visiting the hundreds of bars, drinking wonderful cocktails, schmoozing with interesting locals and passing out in all your clothes before you ever keyboard a single word. A scene from my new book-in-progress, City of Spirits, takes place in the Carousel Lounge, located in the Monteleone Hotel on Royal Street, in the French Quarter. Here is a recipe for a drink supposedly invented there. Hey, I don't write in New Orleans, but I've lost a few brain cells sitting at the revolving bar in the Carousel Lounge. And I loved every minute of it.
Ingredients
· ¾ oz Cognac
· ¾ oz rye whiskey
· ¾ oz sweet vermouth
· ¼ oz Benedictine
· dash Peychaud's Bitters
· dash Angostura Bitters
Directions
Stir and strain over rocks, lemon twist garnish
Eric'sWeb
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